It became a habit. Whenever Becky felt lonely, she would kill her boredom at Koech's place. It was on such a day, in the afternoon when Koech looked up to the sky and saw the clouds gathering and darkening in the distance as the afternoon sun brewed a storm.
"There is heavy rain coming, and it is coming fast," he told Becky.
Becky had seen the black clouds. Every passing minute, they swelled with moisture. She had begun to fear that she would be stuck here. She didn't like the idea.
"I got to go!" She declared.
"You won't even get to the road before it begins to pour."
He was right. Fierce lightning split the sky and was immediately followed by a deafening crack of thunder. And the rain poured.
The rain lashed against the windows with rhythmic melody that grew louder with each passing moment.
"It appears you will not be able to go back." Koech observed. "I need to make preparations for dinner."
"It is going to stop, and I will go back," Becky responded, herself not believing what she was saying.
"You can stay for the night. With thunderstorm like this, I doubt it is safe to go in this rain." Koech advised leaving to the kitchen to prepare the meal.
Becky helplessly settled deeper on the couch.
A couple of hours later, the steaming dishes landed on the table and Becky's taste buds were immediately tantalized by the aroma of Koech's cuisine floating in the air.
She took stock of the variety of dishes served - ugali, sukuma wiki and fried beef.
A couple of hours later, the table had been cleared. The house had settled into its night silence Koech noticed Becky stifled a yawn and her eyes briefly glazed.
"It's getting late," he said gently. "Come let me show you to your room."
She rose and followed him down the narrow corridor, their footsteps soft against the floor. They passed the washroom, then reached a small bedroom at the far end of the house. He ushered her in, wished her goodnight and left.
Becky lay on the bed, hands folded over her stomach, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sleep, however, refused to come. Her memories took her back to that day at the restaurant. They arrived, uninvited and lingered. She felt that warm embrace and his passionate kiss.
With a sigh she sat up.
Maybe a shower would help.
She opened the closet. Inside were neatly folded bedsheets and towels, stacked with care. She took one of the towels, draped it over her shoulder and stepped out, headed to the bathroom. Slowly, she slipped out of her clothes and hung them on the hook by the wall. She also hung the towel.
She turned the tap. The water hissed to life, cold at first but steady. She stepped beneath the spray, closing her eyes as it spilled over her shoulder and traced its way down her back. The tension in her body began to loosen.
Then—
"Becky."
His voice—close, hesitant—cut through the sound of the water.
She froze.
The doorknob turned. The door opened just enough for his face to appear in the narrow gap, uncertainty written plainly across his features.
Becky gasped and instinctively reached for the towel, pulling it tight against her chest, her heart hammering loud.
His stare was intent.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The water kept running.
And the air between them thickened, charged with everything neither dared to say.
"Uhhm..." He stuttured. "Sorry! I didn't mean to...!!"
She was utterly astonished by what had just happened.
Slowly she regained her composure, finished washing, dried herself and dressed.
She could still feel him—the warmth of his nearness, the echo of his touch. It unsettled her how much she wanted more. How easily the walls she had built around herself had weakened.
When she returned to her room, she found him standing by the door, as though unsure whether to knock.
"I hope you can sleep now," he said.
"Maybe," she replied. "I feel… lighter."
He smiled, faint and uncertain. "If you need anything, call me."
She hesitated, then reached out and caught his arm before he could leave.
"Could you get me some lotion?" she asked. "My skin feels dry."
He agreed readily and disappeared down the corridor. She sat on the edge of the bed, heart racing, aware of what she had just done. When he returned, she didn't wait for him to offer the bottle. She took his arm and drew him closer.
This time, there was no mistaking her intent.
He looked at her, searching her face, and whatever he saw there seemed to settle something in him. When he kissed her again, it was deeper, surer. She met him fully, her earlier hesitation giving way to a deliberate, aching want. They moved together toward the bed, the world narrowing to breath and touch and the quiet urgency between them.
Later, when it was over, the room felt strangely still.
The weight of what had happened began to press in on her—not all at once, but slowly, like a tide returning. She lay awake beside him, listening to his breathing even out as sleep claimed him. The ease with which he drifted off startled her.
Her own thoughts, however, refused rest.
Images crowded her mind: the women who had once spoken against her, their voices steady with conviction; the church benches; the certainty with which judgment had been passed. A familiar language crept back into her thoughts—of failure, of falling short, of becoming what she had always denied being.
She slipped quietly from the bed.
In the bathroom, she washed again, scrubbing as though water could undo memory. When she dressed, her movements were quick, purposeful. She did not wake him. She did not leave a note.
Outside, the air was cool and dark. The road was empty. As she walked away from the house, she felt a hollow ache settle in her chest—not regret exactly, but something heavier and more complicated.
She had wanted him. That truth remained, stubborn and undeniable.
What it would come to mean, she did not yet know.
Becky plucked the last shirt from the clothesline, the sun warm on her back. Inside her room, she dropped the laundry on the bed and began folding. As she lifted a blouse, her eyes landed on a packet of sanitary pads peeking from the drawer. Her breath hitched. Her periods—three days late. A cold knot twisted in her stomach. No. It can't be. Maybe it was just stress—or the change in environment? She tried to shake off the worry. But a week later, as she stood staring blankly at the same packet, dread settled deep. Still nothing.
She had to know for sure. Heart pounding, Becky visited a small clinic in town. Minutes felt like hours until the nurse returned with the results—positive. Pregnant.
A storm of emotions erupted inside her. Joy flickered briefly, but was quickly drowned by a wave of guilt. She sank into restlessness, her thoughts racing. How could she celebrate this when she was still a married woman? The hope of reuniting with Tesot had kept her going, but now it felt like a fading dream. He would never accept another man's child. She buried her face in her hands. How had it come to this?
Becky returned to her room, a quiet resolve settling in her heart. She had accepted her fate. Perhaps this child would fill the hollow left by Kiplimo, whose absence still ached like an old wound. But fear lurked in the shadows of her thoughts. What if things fell apart with Koech? What if he rejected the child—or worse, tried to claim it? No. She wouldn't risk it. He would never know. This pregnancy would remain her secret, her burden, her strength.
When Koech called, she ignored him. Dozens of missed calls. Unread messages. He grew restless. What was wrong with Becky? She had vanished—no longer at her apartment, unreachable even through mutual friends. He searched, but she had already disappeared into a new life, one she intended to guard fiercely.
Then one day at Narok, onboard a matatu en route to Nairobi, Becky met him.
She was going to see her sick father now admitted to a hospital in Nairobi.
All the seats in the matatu were taken, except the one beside Becky. The conductor's voice sliced through the afternoon heat—
"Mtu moja! Mtu moja! Mtu moja, tunaenda!"
A man in a red cap ducked through the door, paid the fare, and slid into the seat next to her. Becky barely glanced up—until she noticed the screen of his phone, held casually in his hand. On it was a photo. A familiar face stared back at her. Handsome. Smiling. Her breath caught.
Her heart skipped.
No… not him.
The baby in her womb kicked as if sensing its father's presence. She shifted uneasily, trying to stay calm, praying he wouldn't look her way. But fate had other plans.
He turned toward her, about to greet the stranger at his side. She quickly faced the window. He paused, shrugged, and looked back at his phone. Becky stole a glance—too late. Their eyes met.
A jolt of recognition lit his face.
"Becky?" he breathed. "Is this really you? Where on earth have you been hiding?"
She swallowed, trying to compose herself. "It's me. I haven't been hiding."
"Yes, you have," he said, his voice quiet but urgent. "Not a word since you left. Do you know what that did to me?"
She stayed silent, staring ahead.
"I've been looking for you everywhere. I've called, texted… nothing. I even went to your school, asked your friends. You just… disappeared."
Still, she said nothing. Her eyes held a storm, locked on the passing trees.
"What happened, Becky? Why are you like this? You've changed."
"Nothing's wrong," she muttered.
Koech narrowed his eyes. "Then what's that look on your face?"
"What look?"
"That exasperated, wounded look."
She finally turned to him. "You made me do it."
"Do what?" he demanded, voice rising.
"Conceive."
The word fell heavy in the space between them.
His mouth dropped open, hand covering it instinctively. "Oh my God."
She nodded slowly. "Six months."
"I… I don't believe it."
She sighed. "I didn't want to tell you. But now you know."
"Why would you hide such news from me?"
"Because I'm someone's wife, Koech. And now… pregnant with another man's child. That's not something to be proud of."
He was stunned.
"It was a mistake," she whispered. "What happened between us—it ends there."
"For how long will you keep waiting for a man who's abandoned you?"
"For as long as it takes. If you want to help me, stay away. Forget I exist."
Koech clenched his fists. "He doesn't care about you, Becky. He hasn't reached out. Isn't that pathetic? Why cling to him?"
She turned to him again, her eyes softening. He looked sincere. His words stung—but they were true. He had always treated her kindly. Guilt and confusion warred inside her.
"I'm sorry," she said at last. "But we're not divorced yet. I still believe he'll come back. I don't know how to raise children with different fathers. I just…" Her voice broke. She began to cry.
Koech reached for her hand gently. "Becky, please. It's okay. I get it. We didn't plan this—it just happened. Life is messy. But you don't have to go through this alone."
"So what do I do now?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"You move on," he said softly. "Change is coming. There's hope. We'll get through this. And one day, we'll even laugh again. Dance again."
Her tears slowed. She didn't speak, but something in her eyes had softened.
Koech finally arrived at his destination. The matatu had stopped in Mai Mahiu. He had to part ways with Becky. The few minutes they had spent together in the car had revealed more than he expected. First, he had made her pregnant. Second, Becky still harbored a deep longing to reunite with her ex-husband.
"I'm alighting here," Koech said as he stood. "Call me when you return. We need to talk about this."
Meanwhile, Becky continued her journey to see her sick father. Seeing Koech again unsettled her. He was as handsome as ever, and that kind heart of his had not changed. As much as she had tried to avoid him, fate kept pushing him back into her life. Now he knows everything, she thought. She regretted telling him. He wanted them to discuss how to handle the situation—but she did not want that conversation. She did not want to be persuaded into another relationship. She feared losing this baby, and she felt entitled to the ownership of this child—hers and hers alone.
"Fine," she said quietly.
A few days later
True to her word, Becky called Koech. They met at a quiet restaurant in town.
"How's your father?" he asked.
"Still sick. The doctors recommended surgery."
"I'm sorry. I hope he gets better soon."
"I do too," she replied, stirring her juice absently.
A heavy silence settled.
"I've been thinking about what you told me," Koech said. "And I meant what I said—I'm here for you."
She looked at him, eyes sad but resolute. "I've thought about it too. But we can't be together. Let me handle this alone."
Koech frowned. "Why?"
"You know what I've been through. I can't let it happen again."
He was baffled. "I don't understand you, Becky. You wanted this—you wanted me."
"I was confused," she said. "Hurt. Vulnerable."
His voice tightened. "So the baby's just yours now? I mean nothing to it?"
"You'll never take this child away from me."
He laughed bitterly. "Who said anything about taking it? So it is all about fear? You're afraid I'll take the kid like Tesot? Becky, I was ready to be a father."
She stared at him, defensive, eyes moist.
"If this is how you want it," he said, standing. "Then fine. Keep the baby. I hope it gives you everything you've lost. Just like Kiplimo. I wanted to be part of its life—but if you truly think it's better without me, I won't fight you."
He turned to leave.
"Hey—wait!" Becky called out, rising to her feet. But he didn't turn. He was already halfway out the door, swallowed by the afternoon crowd.
She stood still, trembling. For the first time in months, her carefully guarded wall had cracked. And now, she wasn't sure if she wanted it to fall—or be rebuilt stronger than ever.
The following year, Becky gave birth to a beautiful girl. The resemblance to her father was striking — anyone who knew Koech would recognise her instantly. Yet there was something of Becky in her too, softening the features.
Becky adored the little angel. She reminded her of how her life had shifted the moment she met Koech. Eventually, the urge to tell him became irresistible. She didn't need to search her phone book; his number was etched into her memory.
"Hello, Becky!" His warm voice filled her ear.
"Hello. How are you?"
"I'm fine. It's been so long since I heard from you."
"Yeah," she answered shortly, not matching his cheer.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm okay. Are you ready for some good news?"
"Yes, I am."
"You've become a father."
"Seriously?"
"A baby girl. And she looks exactly like you."
He could hear the happiness in her voice, and it pleased him — partly because she was happy again, partly because she had told him. Maybe her fear had finally gone.
"That's great, Becky. Really great. It makes me feel good. I hope it makes you feel good too."
"It does. Wouldn't you come and see her? You'll love her."
When he did, Koech was stunned. Becky was right — the girl was beautiful, with his eyes, his nose, his ears. She didn't cry when Becky placed her in his arms; instead she stared up at him, studying his face.
"Oh yes… look at you. You're so beautiful."
"You like her?"
"Oh, Becky… I love her."
"She's your daughter."
"I know. But you won't let me have her."
"What do you mean?"
"Have you forgotten what you said?"
"Oh… that?" She hesitated. "Well, I've thought a lot about it. She's as much your daughter as she is mine."
"So, you'll let me into your life?"
"Her life, not mine. I'm still married, remember?"
"Of course I remember."
"Do you know what that means?"
"Enlighten me."
"It means nothing can happen between us."
Koech laughed.
"What's so funny?" Becky snapped.
"You're confused. You say you've changed your mind, yet here you are pretending nothing's happening. This child is proof that something has happened — and still is."
"And it stops there. I won't cut you off completely. You can come see her anytime, but I won't divorce Tesot."
Koech studied her.
"Becky, you don't know what you want. You want to move, but you keep yourself standing still. You want to love and be loved, but you push away those who can give it. And it's because of your past. Tesot moved on when you left. Stop living in that loss."
"I never left! He threw me away like tissue paper. But he'll come back. I'll wait as long as it takes."
"You must accept the status of tissue paper — because that's what you are. At least to him. And you still think there's a place for you in his heart? You don't exist to him anymore. He took another wife, had more children — children, Becky, not just one. And his responsibility is with them now."
He didn't realise how much his words, though true, were cutting her.
The road back to his place seemed longer than usual. The cool Kericho air, scented with eucalyptus, did little to calm the storm brewing inside him.
Becky's words replayed in his mind — "Her life, not mine… I am still married."
It stung, not because he didn't already know, but because she spoke them like a wall being built between them, brick by brick, while he stood on the outside holding a key that fit nowhere.
He thought of the baby — their baby — her curious eyes fixed on him as though she already knew him, as though she could see something in him worth trusting. That look had shaken him in a way he hadn't expected.
He wanted to be there for her, to watch her grow, to hear her first words, to be the steady presence she could rely on. But Becky's resolve was iron. She would give him the title of father but not the closeness of a partner.
Part of him admired her determination; another part resented it. She still clung to Tesot like a ghost she refused to bury. How could she not see the truth? Tesot had moved on — not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually.
Yet Koech knew pressing harder now would only push her further away. So he made himself a quiet vow: he would stay close enough for his daughter to know him, even if it meant swallowing the ache of being kept at arm's length by the woman he once thought could be his future.
And as the wind swept through the tea fields, Koech realised that loving Becky would never be simple. But walking away? That would be impossible.
A year had slipped away since Becky last set foot in her parents' compound. Life in Kericho had swallowed her days — lectures, assignments, and the quiet ache of distance.
She walked briskly through the fading evening light, clutching her books to her chest. She had spent the whole day in the library revising for her end-of-semester exams, scheduled for the following day. This was her second year at the Kenya Medical Training College (KMTC), Kericho campus. One more year would see her graduate. She had once deferred her studies when she fell pregnant; now she was back on track and determined to finish.
Claudia Chebor, her beautiful little girl, was thriving. Becky had hired a maid—a young girl from her village who had dropped out of school for lack of fees. For fifteen hundred shillings a month, paid by Claudia's father, the girl cared for the baby while Becky attended classes.
At home, Becky changed out of her uniform. and took her baby into her arms to breastfeed.
Then her phone vibrated on the study table. She glanced at the screen. It was her sister Mary. She took it and pressed the button.
"Hello sis!" she said
"Hello hi!" Mary greeted.
"Hi! How are you?"
"I am fine."
Her tone was not as cheerful as it always were. And Becky wondered whether she was really fine.
"How is your baby?"
"She is fine." She paused for a moment then, "Are you okay?"
"Hmm. Not really. I have some sad news to share with you?"
"What news?"
"It is about dad."
"Dad!" she exclaimed suddenly alarmed, "what about dad?"
"He is sick again."
"My goodness. Where is he now? Has he been taken to hospital?"
"Yeah. Right now he is at Tenwek hospital. But I understand he may be transferred to Nairobi."
Both of them were silent for a moment. Becky could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Her father had always been her pillar—steady, unshakable. The thought of him lying weak on his bed sent a knot of fear tightening in her stomach.
"What did the Doctor said?"
"They did some test and I am afraid it is cancer?"
Panic clawed at her. She loved her father deeply. She could not imagine losing him.
"They'll take him to Texas Cancer Centre in Nairobi," Mary added softly. "It's the best in the country. He'll get the best treatment."
***
Sigilai's condition worsened despite treatment. Becky had managed only one hospital visit—immediately after her exams—because of her demanding schedule and her baby's needs.
The family poured their resources into the mounting medical bills. His retirement had stripped away most of his insurance benefits; they had fundraised, sold part of the family land, and still debts remained.
When her college closed for the term, Becky travelled to Nairobi.
In the ward, she found her mother at his bedside, having just changed his clothes.
Becky froze. The man on the bed was barely recognizable—gaunt, bald, with sunken eyes. She shuddered. Her mother met her gaze, her own eyes shadowed with worry.
"The doctors are doing their best," her mother said quietly, "but he's deteriorating."
Becky clung to hope. "He'll be okay, Mum. He has to be." She could not imagine life without him—not after already losing Tesot.
Her father's eyes were closed. "Daddy," she whispered.
"Let him sleep," her mother cautioned. "Pain keeps him up at night. Rest is rare."
***
Two weeks later, Becky stood, numb, as the last heap of soil covered her father's grave—a stark, painful reminder of the finality of death. Six feet under lay the coffin of the man who had shaped her life. Around her, a sea of mourners had gathered—villagers, church elders, teachers, students, friends, and relatives—all had come to pay their last respect a beloved retired teacher. The sheer turnout was a testament to the legacy he had left behind. One after another, speakers rose to recall his unwavering dedication, boundless kindness, and a lifetime of service.
But someone was missing. Kiplimo, her firstborn, was not there. She had texted his father about the funeral, sure he had received the message, but no arrangements were made for the boy to attend. The absence cut deep.
As the choir led the mourners in the final hymn—When peace like a river attendeth my way… —Becky felt grief seize and shake her, sharp and suffocating. It wasn't "well with her soul" at all.
When the hymn faded into silence, the pastor offered a final prayer, and the crowd began to drift away in hushed murmurs. Becky hardly noticed their departure until she realized she was standing alone beside the grave. Her gaze followed her uncle as he approached, a long stick in hand crowned with a thorny bundle, which he gently laid across the mound to guard it from animals. Moments later, he returned with a neighbor, each bearing wooden posts and rough off-cuts. Working quietly, they fenced in the grave—securing, at last, her father's final resting place. He was gone forever.
Turning toward the cluster of tents where the mourners sat, Becky's eyes met her mother's. Seated quietly on a plastic chair, her mother watched her with a gaze heavy with shared sorrow. Becky crossed the short distance and lowered herself beside her, each step making the weight of grief press more firmly on her chest. She tried in vain to fight against the memory of the hospital scene replayed in her mind with cruel clarity—the moment her father's eyes closed, and they thought he had only drifted to sleep. Then the nurse had come, her voice gentle yet unyielding, delivering the truth that shattered them both: he was gone.
Tears welled in Becky's eyes, slipped and trickled down her cheeks unchecked. A choked sob escaped her, drawing
A year had slipped away since Becky last set foot in her parents' compound. Life in Kericho had swallowed her days — lectures, assignments, and the quiet ache of distance.
She walked briskly through the fading evening light, clutching her books to her chest. She had spent the whole day in the library revising for her end-of-semester exams, scheduled for the following day. This was her second year at the Kenya Medical Training College (KMTC), Kericho campus. One more year would see her graduate. She had once deferred her studies when she fell pregnant; now she was back on track and determined to finish.
Claudia Chebor, her beautiful little girl, was thriving. Becky had hired a maid—a young girl from her village who had dropped out of school for lack of fees. For fifteen hundred shillings a month, paid by Claudia's father, the girl cared for the baby while Becky attended classes.
At home, Becky changed out of her uniform. and took her baby into her arms to breastfeed.
Then her phone vibrated on the study table. She glanced at the screen. It was her sister Mary. She took it and pressed the button.
"Hello sis!" she said
"Hello hi!" Mary greeted.
"Hi! How are you?"
"I am fine."
Her tone was not as cheerful as it always were. And Becky wondered whether she was really fine.
"How is your baby?"
"She is fine." She paused for a moment then, "Are you okay?"
"Hmm. Not really. I have some sad news to share with you?"
"What news?"
"It is about dad."
"Dad!" she exclaimed suddenly alarmed, "what about dad?"
"He is sick again."
"My goodness. Where is he now? Has he been taken to hospital?"
"Yeah. Right now he is at Tenwek hospital. But I understand he may be transferred to Nairobi."
Both of them were silent for a moment. Becky could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Her father had always been her pillar—steady, unshakable. The thought of him lying weak on his bed sent a knot of fear tightening in her stomach.
"What did the Doctor said?"
"They did some test and I am afraid it is cancer?"
Panic clawed at her. She loved her father deeply. She could not imagine losing him.
"They'll take him to Texas Cancer Centre in Nairobi," Mary added softly. "It's the best in the country. He'll get the best treatment."
***
Sigilai's condition worsened despite treatment. Becky had managed only one hospital visit—immediately after her exams—because of her demanding schedule and her baby's needs.
The family poured their resources into the mounting medical bills. His retirement had stripped away most of his insurance benefits; they had fundraised, sold part of the family land, and still debts remained.
When her college closed for the term, Becky travelled to Nairobi.
In the ward, she found her mother at his bedside, having just changed his clothes.
Becky froze. The man on the bed was barely recognizable—gaunt, bald, with sunken eyes. She shuddered. Her mother met her gaze, her own eyes shadowed with worry.
"The doctors are doing their best," her mother said quietly, "but he's deteriorating."
Becky clung to hope. "He'll be okay, Mum. He has to be." She could not imagine life without him—not after already losing Tesot.
Her father's eyes were closed. "Daddy," she whispered.
"Let him sleep," her mother cautioned. "Pain keeps him up at night. Rest is rare."
***
Two weeks later, Becky stood, numb, as the last heap of soil covered her father's grave—a stark, painful reminder of the finality of death. Six feet under lay the coffin of the man who had shaped her life. Around her, a sea of mourners had gathered—villagers, church elders, teachers, students, friends, and relatives—all had come to pay their last respect a beloved retired teacher. The sheer turnout was a testament to the legacy he had left behind. One after another, speakers rose to recall his unwavering dedication, boundless kindness, and a lifetime of service.
But someone was missing. Kiplimo, her firstborn, was not there. She had texted his father about the funeral, sure he had received the message, but no arrangements were made for the boy to attend. The absence cut deep.
As the choir led the mourners in the final hymn—When peace like a river attendeth my way… —Becky felt grief seize and shake her, sharp and suffocating. It wasn't "well with her soul" at all.
When the hymn faded into silence, the pastor offered a final prayer, and the crowd began to drift away in hushed murmurs. Becky hardly noticed their departure until she realized she was standing alone beside the grave. Her gaze followed her uncle as he approached, a long stick in hand crowned with a thorny bundle, which he gently laid across the mound to guard it from animals. Moments later, he returned with a neighbor, each bearing wooden posts and rough off-cuts. Working quietly, they fenced in the grave—securing, at last, her father's final resting place. He was gone forever.
Turning toward the cluster of tents where the mourners sat, Becky's eyes met her mother's. Seated quietly on a plastic chair, her mother watched her with a gaze heavy with shared sorrow. Becky crossed the short distance and lowered herself beside her, each step making the weight of grief press more firmly on her chest. She tried in vain to fight against the memory of the hospital scene replayed in her mind with cruel clarity—the moment her father's eyes closed, and they thought he had only drifted to sleep. Then the nurse had come, her voice gentle yet unyielding, delivering the truth that shattered them both: he was gone.
Tears welled in Becky's eyes, slipped and trickled down her cheeks unchecked. A choked sob escaped her, drawing her mother's attention.
"Stop crying," her mother whispered gently. "I know how hard this is, but you can't go on like this."
At that moment, the neighbor serving tea came over, handed Becky a cup, and poured in steaming liquid. She quickly swiped at the tears and accepted it, grateful for the small gesture of comfort. As she sipped, she noticed the guests departing quietly, one by one, until only close relatives remained.
She was still seated when a familiar silhouette emerged in the distance. Leaning forward, she narrowed her eyes until his features sharpened into focus. It was Koech—Claudia's father. She hadn't told him about her father's passing, consumed as she was by her own grief. Yet here he was. Late, but here. At least he cared enough to come.
She watched him greet her brothers, shaking their hands with a polite smile. They likely had no idea who he was, and Becky could sense his quiet struggle to introduce himself.
"That's my guest," she told her mother, rising to meet him.
When she reached them, she said, "So you've met? This is Peter Koech. Peter, these are my brothers, Jephta and Cyrus. Thank you for coming."
"Thank you," Koech replied softly, his tone carrying genuine sympathy. "Pleasure to meet you, Jephta, Cyrus. My sincere condolences for your loss."
"Thank you," Cyrus said quietly. "We're coping. It's God's will."
"Come with me," Becky said, taking Koech's hand and leading him toward the house. She made sure he was seated comfortably before slipping into the kitchen to fetch him something to eat. Thankfully, the clan elders had just stepped outside, sparing him their probing questions.
After the mourning period, life slowly settled back into routine. Relatives departed, and Becky's younger siblings returned to school. Becky, however, hesitated to leave her grieving mother alone. Two weeks into the new semester at her nursing school, she finally decided it was time to go back. She called her maid to prepare for the journey to Kericho.
Paying her fees wasn't a challenge—generous contributions from friends, relatives, and well-wishers had eased the family's burden. Koech continued to help with rent and the maid's wages. Becky never asked for more than he could manage; she knew his modest salary as a private school teacher left little room for extras. Perhaps, she thought, if he ever secured a position with the Teachers Service Commission, things would improve.
Koech visited often, sometimes staying the night. Then, something unexpected happened—Becky became pregnant by him again.
She felt foolish for letting it happen, but there was no undoing it now. This time, she didn't keep it from him. When she told Koech, his face lit with genuine joy. Becky, however, felt a gnawing conflict. Another child with Koech meant closing the door on any faint hope of reconciling with Tesot. Surely Tesot would never accept two children not his own.
As her due date drew near, she deferred her studies again. But unlike before, she decided not to go home for the delivery; she feared her mother's and brothers' judgment over another child outside marriage. Her father had once been her shield, but now he was gone. She didn't want to burden anyone.
When the day arrived, Koech was there, taking her to the hospital. She delivered safely—a healthy baby boy. Koech's joy was unmistakable. They named him Baraka.
Once again, he tried to persuade her to marry him, to go home with him and meet his parents. But Becky refused. She still had her reasons: she was legally Tesot's wife.
"Why can't you follow up with him?" Koech asked, frustration edging his voice. "How can you stay bound to him when he's already free? If you really love me, get him to sign the divorce papers."
But Becky couldn't. Or perhaps she wouldn't.
And so, her life remained in delicate balance—pulled between love, loyalty, and a past she could not fully release.
What she didn't know was that the past was already on its way back to her—bringing with it the kind of reckoning she had long feared.